CHAPTER XXI
THE END IN SIGHT
Barnes, soaring beyond all previous heights of exaltation, rangeddizzily between "front" and "back" at the Grand Opera House thatevening. He was supposed to remain "out front" until the curtain wentup on the second act. But the presence of the Countess in MissThackeray's barren, sordid little dressing-room rendered it exceedinglydifficult for him to remain in any fixed spot for more than fiveminutes at a stretch. He was in the "wings" with her, whispering in herdelighted ear; in the dressing-room, listening to her soft words ofencouragement to the excited leading-lady; on the narrow stairs leadingup to the stage, assisting her to mount them,--and not in the leastminding the narrowness; out in front for a jiffy, and then back again;and all the time he was dreading the moment when he would awake andfind it all a dream.
There was an annoying fly in the ointment, however. Her languoroussurrender to love, her physical confession of defeat at the hands ofthat inexorable power, her sweet submission to the conquering arms ofthe besieger, left nothing to be desired; and yet there was somethingthat stood between him and utter happiness: her resolute refusal tobind herself to any promise for the future.
"I love you," she had said simply. "I want more than anything else inall the world to be your wife. But I cannot promise now. I must havetime to think, time to--"
"Why should you require more time than I?" he persisted. "Have we notshown that there is nothing left for either of us but to make the otherhappy? What is time to us? Why make wanton waste of it?"
"I know that I cannot find happiness except with you," she replied. "Nomatter what happens to me, I shall always love you, I shall neverforget the joy of THIS. But--" She shook her head sadly.
"Would you go back to your people and marry--" he swallowed hard andwent on--"marry some one you could never love, not even respect, withthe memory of--"
"Stop! I shall never marry a man I do not love. Oh, please be patient,be good to me. Give me a little time. Can you not see that you areasking me to alter destiny, to upset the teachings and traditions ofages, and all in one little minute of weakness?"
"We cannot alter destiny," he said stubbornly. "We may upset tradition,but what does that amount to? We have but one life to live. I think ourgrandchildren and our great-grandchildren will be quite as well pleasedwith their ancestors as their royal contemporaries will be with theirsa hundred years from now."
"I cannot promise now," she said gently, and kissed him.
The first performance of "The Duke's Revenge" was incredibly bad. Thelittle that Barnes saw of it, filled him with dismay. Never had hewitnessed anything so hopeless as the play, unless it was the actorsthemselves. But more incredible than anything else in connection withthe performance was the very palpable enjoyment of the audience. Hecould hardly believe his ears. The ranting, the shouting, the howlingof the actors sent shivers to the innermost recesses of his being. Thensuddenly he remembered that he was in the heart of the "barn-stormer's"domain. The audience revelled in "The Duke's Revenge" because they hadnever seen anything better!
Between the second and third acts Tommy Gray rushed back with thebox-office statement. The gross was $359. The instant that fact becameknown to Mr. Rushcroft he informed Barnes that they had a "knockout," agold mine, and that never in all his career had he known a season tostart off so auspiciously as this one.
"It's good for forty weeks solid," he exclaimed. Both Barnes and thewide-eyed Countess became infused with the spirit of jubilation thatfilled the souls of these time-worn, hand-to-mouth stragglers. Theyrejoiced with them in their sudden elevation to happiness, andoverlooked the vain-glorious claims of each individual in the matter ofpersonal achievement. Even the bewildered Tilly bleated out her littlecry for distinction.
"Did you hear them laugh at the way I got off my speech?" she criedexcitedly.
"I certainly did," said Mr. Bacon amiably. "By gad, I laughed at itmyself."
"Parquet $217.50, dress circle $105, gallery $36.50," announced TommyGray, as he donned his wig and false beard for the third act."Sixty-forty gives us $215.40 on the night. Thank God, we won't have toworry about the sheriff this week."
In Miss Thackeray's dressing-room that level-headed young woman brokedown and wept like a child.
"Oh, Lord," she stuttered, "is it possible that we're going to stayabove water at last? I thought we had gone down for the last time, andhere we are bobbing up again as full of ginger as if we'd never hit thebottom."
The Countess kissed her and told her that she was the rarest girl shehad ever known, the pluckiest and the best.
"If I had your good looks, Miss Cameron," said Mercedes, "added to mynatural ability, I'd make Julia Marlowe look like an old-fashionedone-ring circus. Send Mr. Bacon to me, Mr. Barnes. I want tocongratulate him."
"He gave a fine performance," said Barnes promptly.
"I don't want to congratulate him on his acting," said she, smilingthrough her tears. "He's going to be married to-morrow. And I am goingto have Miss Cameron for my bridesmaid," she added, throwing an armabout the astonished Countess. "Mr. Bacon will want Dilly for his bestman, but he ought to think more of the general effect than that. Dillyonly comes to his shoulder." She measured the stalwart figure of ThomasBarnes with an appraising eye. "What do you say, Mr. Barnes?"
"I'll do it with the greatest pleasure," he declared.
The next afternoon in the town of Bittler the Countess Mara-Dafanda,daughter of royalty, and Thomas Kingsbury Barnes "stood up" with thehappy couple during a lull in the hastily called rehearsal on the stageof Fisher's Imperial Theatre, and Lyndon Rushcroft gave the bride away.There was $107 in the house that night, but no one was down-hearted.
"You could do worse, dear heart, than to marry one of us care-freeAmericans," whispered Barnes to the girl who clung to his arm sotightly as they entered the wings in the wake of the bride and groom.
And she said something in reply that brought a flush of mortificationto his cheek.
"Oh, it would be wonderful to marry a man who will never have to go towar. A brave man who will not have to be a soldier."
The unintentional reflection on the fighting integrity of his countrystruck a raw spot in Barnes's pride. He knew what all Europe was sayingabout the pussy-willow attitude of the United States, and he squirmedinwardly despite the tribute she tendered him as an individual. He wasnot a "peace at any price" citizen.
He gave the wedding breakfast at one o'clock that night.
Three days later he and "Miss Jones" said farewell to the strollers andboarded a day train for New York City. They left the company in acondition of prosperity. The show was averaging two hundred dollarsnightly, and Mr. Rushcroft was already booking return engagements forthe early fall. He was looking forward to a tour of Europe at the closeof the war.
"My boy," he said to Barnes on the platform of the railway station, "Itrust you will forgive me for not finding a place in our remarkablywell-balanced cast for your friend. I have been thinking a great dealabout her in the past few days, and it has occurred to me that shemight find it greatly to her advantage to accept a brief New Yorkengagement before tackling the real proposition. It won't take her longto find out whether she really likes it, and whether she thinks itworth while to go on with it. Let me give you one bit of advice, mydear Miss Jones. This is very important. The name of Jones will not getyou anywhere. It is a nice old family, fireside name, but it lacksromance. Chuck it. Start your new life with another name, my dear. Godbless you! Good luck and--good-bye till we meet on the Rialto."
"I wonder how he could possibly have known," she mused aloud, the pinkstill in her cheeks as the train pulled out.
"You darling," cried Barnes, "he doesn't know. But taking it by andlarge, it was excellent advice. The brief New York engagement meetswith my approval, and so does the change of name. I am in a position tosupply you with both."
"Do you regard Barnes as an especially attractive name?" she inquired,dimpling.
"It has the virtue of beginni
ng with B, entitling it to a place welltoward the top of alphabetical lists. A very handy name for patronessesat charity bazaars, and so forth. People never look below B unless tomake sure that their own names haven't been omitted. You ought to takethat into consideration. If you can't be an A, take the next best thingoffered. Be a B."
"You almost persuade me," she smiled.
His sister met them at the Grand Central Terminal.
"It's now a quarter to five," said Barnes, after the greeting andpresentation. "Drop me at the Fifth Avenue Bank, Edith. I want to leavesomething in my safety box downstairs. Sha'n't be more than fiveminutes."
He got down from the automobile at 44th Street and shot across thesidewalk into the bank, casting quick, apprehensive glances through thefive o'clock crowd on the avenue as he sprinted. In his hand he luggedthe heavy, weatherbeaten pack. His sister and the Countess stared afterhim in amazement.
Presently he emerged from the bank, still carrying the bag. He wasbeaming. A certain worried, haggard expression had vanished from hisface and for the first time in eight hours he treated his travellingwardrobe with scorn and indifference. He tossed it carelessly into theseat beside the chauffeur, and, springing nimbly into the car, sankback with a prodigious sigh of relief.
"Thank God, they're off my mind at last," he cried. "That is the firstgood, long breath I've had in a week. No, not now. It's a long storyand I can't tell it in Fifth Avenue. It would be extremely annoying tohave both of you die of heart failure with all these people looking on."
He felt her hand on his arm, and knew that she was looking at him withwide, incredulous eyes, but he faced straight ahead. After a moment ortwo, she snuggled back in the seat and cried out tremulously:
"Oh, how wonderful--how wonderful!"
Mrs. Courtney, in utter ignorance, inquired politely:
"Isn't it? Have you never been in New York before, Miss Cameron?Strangers always find it quite wonderful at the--"
"How are all the kiddies, Edith, and old Bill?" broke in her brotherhastily.
He was terribly afraid that the girl beside him was preparing to shedtears of joy and relief. He could feel her searching in her jacketpocket for a handkerchief.
Mrs. Courtney was not only curious but apprehensive. She hadn't thefaintest idea who Miss Cameron was, nor where her brother had pickedher up. But she saw at a glance that she was lovely, and her soul wasfilled with strange misgivings. She was like all sisters who have petbachelor brothers. She hoped that poor Tom hadn't gone and made a foolof himself. The few minutes' conversation she had had with the strangeronly served to increase her alarm. Miss Cameron's voice and smile--andher eyes!--were positively alluring.
She had had a night letter from Tom that morning in which he said thathe was bringing a young lady friend down from the north,--and would shemeet them at the station and put her up for a couple of days? That wasall she knew of the dazzling stranger up to the moment she saw her.Immediately after that, she knew, by intuition, a great deal more abouther than Tom could have told in volumes of correspondence. She knew,also, that Tom was lost forever!
"Now, tell me," said the Countess, the instant they entered theCourtney apartment. She gripped both of his arms with her firm littlehands, and looked straight into his eyes, eagerly, hopefully. She hadforgotten Mrs. Courtney's presence, she had not taken the time toremove her hat or jacket.
"Let's all sit down," said he. "My knees are unaccountably weak. Comealong, Ede. Listen to the romance of my life."
And when the story was finished, the Countess took his hand in hers andheld it to her cool cheek. The tears were still drowning her eyes.
"Oh, you poor dear! Was that why you grew so haggard, and pale, andhollow-eyed?"
"Partly," said he, with great significance.
"And you had them in your pack all the time? You--!"
"I had Sprouse's most solemn word not to touch them for a week. He isthe only man I feared. He is the only one who could have--"
"May I use your telephone, Mrs. Courtney?" cried she, suddenly. Shesprang to her feet, quivering with excitement. "Pray forgive me forbeing so ill-mannered, but I--I must call up one or two people at once.They are my friends. I have written them, but--but I know they arewaiting to see me in the flesh or to hear my voice. You willunderstand, I am sure."
Barnes was pacing the floor nervously when his sister returned afterconducting her new guest to the room prepared for her. The Countess wasat the telephone before the door closed behind her hostess.
"I wish you had been a little more explicit in your telegram, Tom," shesaid peevishly. "If I had known who she is I wouldn't have put her inthat room. Now, I shall have to move Aunt Kate back into it to-morrow,and give Miss Cameron the big one at the end of the hall." Which goesto prove that Tom's sister was a bit of a snob in her way. "Stopwalking like that, and come here." She faced him accusingly. "Have youtold me ALL there is to tell, sir?"
"Can't you see for yourself, Ede, that I'm in love with her?Desperately, horribly, madly in love with her. Don't giggle like that!I couldn't have told you while she was present, could I?"
"That isn't what I want to know. Is she in love with YOU? That's whatI'm after."
"Yes," said he, but frowned anxiously.
"She is perfectly adorable," said she, and was at once aware of aguilty, nagging impression that she would not have said it to him halfan hour earlier for anything in the world.
The Countess was strangely white and subdued when she rejoined themlater on. She had removed her hat. The other woman saw nothing but thewealth of sun-kissed hair that rippled. Barnes went forward to meether, filled with a sudden apprehension.
"What is it? You are pale and--what have you heard?"
She stopped and looked searchingly into his eyes. A warm flush rose toher cheeks; her own eyes grew soft and tender and wistful.
"They all believe that the war will last two or three years longer,"she said huskily. "I cannot go back to my own country till it is allover. They implore me to remain here with them until--until my fortunesare mended." She turned to Mrs. Courtney and went on without theslightest trace of indecision or embarrassment in her manner. "You see,Mrs. Courtney, I am very, very poor. They have taken everything. I--Ifear I shall have to accept the kind, the generous proffer of a--" hervoice shook slightly--"of a home with my friends until the Huns aredriven out."
Barnes's silence was more eloquent than words. Her eyes fell. Mrs.Courtney's words of sympathy passed unheard; her bitter excoriation ofthe Teutons and Turks was but dimly registered on the inattentive mindof the victim of their ruthless greed; not until she expressed the hopethat Miss Cameron would condescend to accept the hospitality of herhome until plans for the future were definitely fixed was there a signthat the object of her concern had given a thought to what she wassaying.
"You are so very kind," stammered the Countess. "But I cannot think ofimposing upon--"
"Leave it to me, Ede," said Barnes gently, and, laying his hand uponhis sister's arm, he led her from the room. Then he came swiftly backto the outstretched arms of the exile.
"A very brief New York engagement," he whispered in her ear, he knewnot how long afterward. Her head was pressed against his shoulder, hereyes were closed, her lips parted in the ecstasy of passion.
"Yes," she breathed, so faintly that he barely heard the strongest wordever put into the language of man.
Half-an-hour later he was speeding down the avenue in a taxi. His bloodwas singing, his heart was bursting with joy,--his head was light, forthe feel of her was still in his arms, the voice of her in hisenraptured ears.
He was hurrying homeward to the "diggings" he was soon to desertforever. Poor, wretched, little old "diggings"! As he passed the Plaza,the St. Regis and the Gotham, he favoured the great hostelries withcontemplative, calculating eyes; he even looked with speculative envyupon the mansions of the Astors, the Vanderbilts and the Huntingtons.She was born and reared in a house of vast dimensions. Even theVanderbilt places were puny in comparison.
His reflections carried himback to the Plaza. There, at least, was something comparable in size.At any rate, it would do until he could look around for somethinglarger! He laughed at his conceit,--and pinched himself again.
He was to spend the night at his sister's apartment. When he issuedforth from his "diggings" at half-past seven, he was attired in eveningclothes, and there was not a woman in all New York, young or old, whowould have denied him a second glance.
Later on in the evening three of the Countess's friends arrived at theCourtney home to pay their respects to their fair compatriot, and todiscuss the crown jewels. They came and brought with them the consolinginformation that arrangements were practically completed for thedelivery of the jewels into the custody of the French Embassy atWashington, through whose intervention they were to be allowed to leavethe United States without the formalities usually observed in cases ofsuspected smuggling. Upon the arrival in America of trusted messengersfrom Paris, headed by no less a personage than the ambassador himself,the imperial treasure was to pass into hands that would carry it safelyto France. Prince Sebastian, still in Halifax, had been apprised bytelegraph of the recovery of the jewels, and was expected to sail forEngland by the earliest steamer.
And while the visitors at the Courtney house were lifting their glassesto toast the prince they loved, and, in turn, the beautiful cousin whohad braved so much and fared so luckily, and the tall wayfarer who hadcome into her life, a small man was stooping over a rifled knapsack ina room far down-town, glumly regarding the result of an unusuallyhazardous undertaking, even for one who could perform, such miracles ashe. Scratching his chin, he grinned,--for he was the kind who bearsdisappointment with a grin,--and sat himself down at the big librarytable in the centre of the room. Carefully selecting a pen-point, hewrote:
"It will be quite obvious to you that I called unexpectedly to-night.The week was up, you see. I take the liberty of leaving under thepaperweight at my elbow a two dollar bill. It ought to be ample paymentfor the damage done to your faithful traveling companion. Have thenecessary stitches taken in the gash, and you will find the kit as goodas new. I was more or less certain not to find what I was after, but asI have done no irreparable injury, I am sure you will forgive my loveof adventure and excitement. It was really quite difficult to get fromthe fire escape to your window, but it was a delightful experience. Trycrawling along that ten inch ledge yourself some day, and see if itisn't productive of a pleasant thrill. I shall not forget your promiseto return good for evil some day. God knows I hope I may never be in aposition to test your sincerity. We may meet again, and I hope underagreeable circumstances. Kindly pay my deepest respects to the CountessTed, and believe me to be,
"Yours VERY respectfully, "Sprouse.
"P.S.--I saw O'Dowd to-day. He left a message for you and the Countess.Tell them, said he, that I ask God's blessing for them forever. He isoff to-morrow for Brazil. He was very much relieved when he heard thatI did not get the jewels the first time I went after them, andimmensely entertained by my jolly description of how I went after themthe second. By the way, you will be interested to learn that he has cutloose from the crowd he was trailing with. Mostly nuts, he says.Dynamiting munition plants in Canada was a grand project, says he, andit would have come to something if the damned women had only left thedamned men alone. The expletives are O'Dowd's."
Ten hours before Barnes found this illuminating message on his librarytable, he stood at the window of a lofty Park Avenue apartmentbuilding, his arm about the slender, yielding figure of the only otheroccupant of the room. Pointing out over the black house-tops, hedirected her attention to the myriad lights in the upper floors of agreat hostelry to the south and west, and said,
"THAT is where you are going to live, darling."
THE END
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